


Come Be Eternal

by diviningknife



Category: Darkangel Trilogy - Meredith Ann Pierce, Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bluebeard's Wife parallels, Body Worship, Cannibalism, F/F, F/M, M/M, Out of Character, Praise Kink, Stockholm Syndrome, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 09:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9484715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diviningknife/pseuds/diviningknife
Summary: *figures out what to write two days before end date*Um. So, if I could just head off the, Great Expectations! please understand I am a very all over the place kind of writer who is not good at verb tenses or character voice in addition to *handwaves the et cetera* and was lured by the Hannigram (fisher of fans) to be an awkwardness participating in fandom.For those unfamiliar with the Darkangel Trilogy, no prior knowledge is necessary to understand the trajectory of this piece. Should further curiousity compel, I would recommend stopping at the second book if you've a mind to read. In my personal opinion (bitter heartbreak is a strikingly efficient teacher) the third one is like crossing the event horizon Mizumono style and I would save you from that ending.On a final note, the title of this work is a slight simplification of the chorus lyrics from Kuchizuke by Buck Tick.





	

**Author's Note:**

> *figures out what to write two days before end date* 
> 
> Um. So, if I could just head off the, Great Expectations! please understand I am a very all over the place kind of writer who is not good at verb tenses or character voice in addition to *handwaves the et cetera* and was lured by the Hannigram (fisher of fans) to be an awkwardness participating in fandom. 
> 
> For those unfamiliar with the Darkangel Trilogy, no prior knowledge is necessary to understand the trajectory of this piece. Should further curiousity compel, I would recommend stopping at the second book if you've a mind to read. In my personal opinion (bitter heartbreak is a strikingly efficient teacher) the third one is like crossing the event horizon Mizumono style and I would save you from that ending. 
> 
> On a final note, the title of this work is a slight simplification of the chorus lyrics from Kuchizuke by Buck Tick.

Desolation, the rasp of the wind soughing through the desert almost comforting when held up against the vast silence. The sun is a merciless searing weight upon his neck, a solid warmth as the light touches, dragging him down into lethargy. And yet some greater purpose sets urgency to his sinking steps, a memory that refuses to focus at the forefront of his mind. A stranger, pressing something into his hands with hushed instruction. Words that slip through his comprehension, but it’s the emotions that reconstruct his fragmented understanding. He holds tight onto the sliding impressions, unable to determine what belongs to whom even as he internalizes the connection that echo from that patched recollection. It passes through him like he is mere conduit to the current, smudged fingerprints of feelings swirling together.

_He’s supposed to save them, he sees so much there has to be a path for him to take that will change the future._

_There is a familiar fear, bitter indecision at the paralyzing circumstance that binds him to this post. The futility of resistance to a temptation that knows his secrets for its own, has fingers fondling the pulse of his heart; breathing in tandem. Glimpses of a darker madness, a promise made with bloodied teeth in the semblance of a smile. Every desire flayed, a greater nightmare waiting for soulful embrace. A passage of shades, their quiet judgement tipping scales towards execution. Before him spread labyrinthine possibilities, undulating coils rooted with perspective and motivations spilling light into the great wash of open ocean that rises up upon him._

Will wakes, his lungs heaving as he fights for breath; at once disoriented and half blind with the certainty that he is drowning still. Tangled in his bedsheets, he sits up shakily, parsing the surroundings with some difficulty. From the window, the light of the morning limns the haphazardly cramped room with ghostly bluish grey shades. He sets his feet on the faded rug, scrubbing at his face with a hand and tries not to shudder as the drying sweat chills his exposed skin.

It’s a strange dream, but he almost longs for more gristly horrors rather than this haunting vision. The dread and tension of anticipated danger keeps him twisted tight with paranoia, keeps him looking at shadows with sickened apprehension. It’s not a comfortable way to live, but he’s had all his years to cultivate a mechanism of perceiving the edges of his particular gifts. It won’t be the first time he’s had to wait out the muddled signs yet to conceptualize, but he doesn’t appreciate the damage this will add to his already shabby reputation if he’s going to be nerves of wary suspicion at every turn. Head hung low, he rubs at the back of his neck, massages the knobs of his spines and gives himself a few more moments before irritably shambling to an early start on the day.

* * *


End file.
